Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“As opposed to the leisurely pushing I’ve been doing?” I asked sarcastically.
She only smiled.
A contraction built, and I felt my reserves of energy dwindle down to nothing. There was nothing left in me.
Except I had to.
So at the peak of my contraction, I went somewhere in my head. Outside of the room but still in it. And then I pushed.
With all my might.
And out came our daughter’s head. All of it.
My doctor cradled it, and I looked at her, half out of my body.
“That’s the hardest part, now let’s get the rest of her out.” She told me this so calmly, nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t holding half of my baby, who was hanging out of my vagina.
I pushed once more then felt immense relief.
Out she came.
Screaming.
Beautiful.
Then she was on my stomach, getting cleaned off, using her lungs.
I blinked down at her. This baby, this living, breathing, crying thing that was mine. Ours.
My hands found her skin.
It was warm, still wet with vernix, but it was perfect.
I looked up at Kane.
He was crying. Tears ran down his face as he gazed at our daughter in wonder. Then he looked at me with worship.
“I pushed her out,” I whispered. “Our baby.”
His whole face softened some more. “Yeah, Chef, you did. You did fuckin’ great.” He leaned in to kiss my head.
“You want to cut the cord, Dad?” a nurse asked.
“Nah, that’s grandma’s job,” Kane said, staring at our baby.
We’d already discussed that. Mom and Maisie were in the waiting room, and we’d instructed a nurse to go get Mom once the baby was born to surprise her with this. I knew she’d been fully expecting to be shut out of everything, as she had been all the other important moments of my adult life.
Mom rushed into the room, eyes shining and already wet with tears as she took in the scene.
For once, my mother was speechless as a nurse held out the scissors.
“Go on,” I smiled at her. It had been a revelation to me, how hard my mother had tried to connect with me. How hard I’d tried to push her out.
So it was important to me that I gave her this. Gave us this.
Her tears landed on the scissors as she cut the cord.
Then the doctors did their work.
“We’re just going to get her cleaned off and weigh her,” a nurse said as she plucked Mabel from my chest.
I nodded, even though it went against every instinct in my body to have my daughter taken from me, even if it was just a few feet across the room.
Kane followed the nurses, a hairbreadth away from them, not letting our daughter out of his sight.
My mother came to kiss my head.
“Thank you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You did so wonderful, my baby.”
I let a single tear slip, watching Kane’s back.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We did.”
The chaos of labor gave room to quiet. My doctor left after stitching me up and telling me she’d be back in the morning.
Stitches. Down there. It made sense since I’d felt the horrible ripping sensation as Mabel came out. Worth it, completely worth it.
A nurse got me up and helped me to the bathroom. I walked hunched over, totally in shock at how much pain I was in. I couldn’t straighten.
She helped me onto the toilet, and I didn’t have the energy to feel shame. She also showed me the process of putting a large pad in my disposable underwear, one that had a cooling feature, then she laid witch hazel pads on top of that to soothe.
When she helped me pull up the underwear, the relief was welcome.
Then I hobbled back to bed, one eye on Kane sitting in the rocking chair, his large finger tracing the nose of our tiny baby. They were in their own little world, his shirt off, pressing her skin to his.
Once I was settled, he immediately gave her up, settling her at my breast.
He helped me position her properly, like the lactation consultant who had been in earlier showed us. It felt unfamiliar. Strange. But also natural. I was awkward, afraid of holding her wrong, of breaking her.
Kane seemed more sure, more confident. Much more natural.
He gave her a kiss on the head then me one on the lips before he returned to his chair. Neither of us spoke, we just watched our baby drink then, eventually, fall asleep at my breast.
Carefully, oh so carefully, mindful of the tiny bundle and how any small movement made my pelvis light up with the fire of a thousand sons of bitches, I cradled her in the nook of my arm.
I left my breast exposed, too tired to cover it. One thing I lost that day was my modesty.
“You need to sleep.” Kane’s voice was soft and throaty and full of awe.